Timberline Trail (19 page)

She ignored his displeasure and plunged down the small hill, keeping to the trees. Jon
gesticulated angrily at her, demanding she stop, but Tia pretended not to notice. Finally he whipped his rifle over his shoulder and headed down the hill himself, veering right toward the shed. So far so good! Tia remained in the shadow of the tree line, finally managing to lope through the melting snow to the north side of the cabin. She hugged the rough hewn logs as wood smoke assailed her nose.

Tia edged around
the back of the cabin and pressed her face against the master bedroom window. Its beige curtains were only partially drawn so she leaned against the glass to venture a quick peek. Empty. Tia returned to her shelter of the north-west side of the house and peered out to the timberline, spotting Jon’s dark blue parka.

He lifted his hands up in query and she shook her head grimly at him.
He shrugged exasperatedly and slowly opened the tool shed door. The hum of the generator drifted over the glistening snow as he ventured inside.

Mustering up courage
, Tia moved along the west side of the cabin, ducking under the low windows before passing behind the stone fire place her Uncle Jeffery had so proudly constructed three summers ago. She proceeded to the outer corner of the house until reaching the window near the bookcase and strained on her tiptoes to squint through the glass brightened by yellow gingham curtains. The murmur of men’s voices rose, barely discernable over the roar of the overfilled fireplace. Before it stood two angry men. The first was easily recognizable as Steve who argued with the stocky, sandy-haired man whose moustache drooped over fat red lips.

Placing her ear against the window
Steve’s stressed voice rang clearly. “Well, if you’d been watching better he’d never have gotten away in the first place.”

The French-Canadian gave a shrug so typical of his people and lit a narrow cigar.
“He will die from cold. He’s from the city and doesn’t even know in what direction Timberline lies. I say let the wolves pick his bones.”

“And the girl.
I always thought the plan was to question her not kill her?”

“She’d
seen our faces,” stated the Canadian mildly, and he blew smoke in Steve’s direction.

“I don’t want to be party to this
. She’s a nice girl and doesn’t deserve this kind of treatment.”

“B
ah!” cried the stocky Frenchman. “Women are never what they seem. You are just sore because she preferred the photographer. She’s devious that one; he can tell you that.” He shrugged toward the brown plaid couch.

From it rose another man, his b
ack and well-trimmed light brown hair to her. His medium built frame was covered by a huge bulky green sweater and he kept rubbing his arms as if cold. Some kind of knotted cap perched upon his head and he wore awful rust-colored baggy cords. Whoever it was certainly lacked the polished sophistication of Steve, who appeared close to assaulting the Canadian.

“She did not prefer him,” cried Steve egotistically
, and actually swung at the other man.

Mr. X snarled something indiscernible and both men abruptly stopped arguing,
distancing themselves from each other as they tried to calm down. Tia scanned the large front room for Paul Dale, now convinced he was the man who’d escaped and breathed a sigh of relief. A wave of resentment flared over her as the three men made themselves comfortable in her house. Steve sipped at a brandy he’d obviously retrieved from her liquor cabinet and continued his argument with the Canadian.

“We’ve got to get out
of here! There’s no telling when the cops might show up since we weren’t able to find Simons and the girl.”

Tia’s legs ached from standing on tiptoe, but she still
pressed against the icy window.

The French-Canadian scoffed.
“You worry too much, but I must agree with you Stevie; we have to move this morning. We’ve copied the disk and destroyed his hard drive. What else are we waiting for?”

Two gray jays hopped up an Alpine fir not four feet above her and chattered away.
Tia strained to listen over their noisy cries as the third man spoke quietly; his words fading in and out like a poorly adjusted radio station.

“The job is not complete... I’ll... Tia
knows too... glimpse... leave after all… the will proves... never connect...” His indistinct words faded away as Mr. X sauntered into the hall bathroom and slammed the door after him. Steve appeared annoyed and moved toward the picturesque windows framing the front of the cabin and Tia ducked, quickly jumping behind the house. It was far too risky to stay here. Something niggled at the back of her brain as she moved swiftly through the woods and headed straight for the tree line where Jon waited, hopefully with the snowmobile. She prayed the gas tank was full. Jon grabbed her close when she slid around the back of the shed, his face filled with anger.

“What do you think you were doing?” he whi
spered angrily. “I thought the plan was to steal the snowmobile and get out of here?”

“I had to see who was inside and d
etermine whether or not Paul is a prisoner or part of their gang. There’s three of them. Steve, the Canadian, and some brown-haired man wearing a cap and a large green sweater over the most atrocious orange trousers I’ve ever seen. I have no idea who he is.”

“Three, eh?” whispered Jon. “That’s not very many.”

“Don’t even think about it. Besides, they’re armed with my dad’s hunting rifles. Steve mentioned someone escaping; that’s got to be Paul. They also indicated they’d found whatever they were looking for and confiscated the disk before destroying dad’s hard drive. You were right Jon. The secret was on his computer.”

“Hmm,” pondered Jon.
“Then they’ll probably be high-tailing it out of here, knowing someone is going to sic the authorities on them. I think the best plan is to move the snowmobile up to the tree line and when we’re far enough away from the house, start the engine and head toward my camp. I have a snowmobile there as well and after retrieving some supplies and more fuel, we’ll glide to Timberline.”

“I wish we could take your car,” moaned Tia, not looking forward to the icy ride.

“Yeah, but they’ve blown out at least two of my tires. Besides, the snowmobile is best for cross country. Let’s go,” urged Jon. “I believe if we head directly perpendicular from the shed, it’ll be the shortest way up to the tree line. Are you ready?”

Tia nodded and gripped the small vehicle’s rubber handle while securing one hand upon the seat.
Jon took the left hand side and with a mighty heave they propelled the snowmobile between them toward the dense block of trees. At any moment Tia expected to hear a shot and feel a bullet between her shoulder blades, but within a couple of minutes they’d reached the shelter of the pines, out of breath, but victorious.

After a few moments rest Jon whispered to her, “Let’s go.”

For
the next quarter hour the two battled the snow and countless hidden rocks and roots which seemed determined to snag the snowmobile at every turn. After a few hundred feet it became apparent which direction Jon wished to follow. A small hill rose to the right of her cabin and he determinedly pulled the snowmobile beyond it, hoping the rise would muffle the sound of the engine.

Tia found it rough going as the sweat began to trickle between her shoulder blades.
She struggled to maintain her balance and push the obstinate snowmobile toward the low plateau. And she had thought herself fit! Once, they hit a rock with such a jolt it rattled her aching bones all the way to her toes.

“Can’t stop yet,” Jon
ground out between clenched teeth, and they struggled until finally pausing behind the little hill now completely blocking them from the cabin’s view. Jon released the snowmobile and breathed deeply, his breath forming small clouds.

“
That should do it,” he said. “Hopefully this small hill will muffle the sounds of the motor. Let’s hop on.”

Tia positioned herself behind Jon, her arms clutching his trim waist as he cautiously turned the key in the ignitio
n, the engine noise bursting through the cold still air. They zoomed off, distancing themselves from Tia’s cabin. It was a cold icy ride that early Thursday morning as Jon unerringly guided the snowmobile toward his camp. Tia lost track of direction and time and it was with supreme shock when, after he accelerated up a little rise, she found herself sailing down the relative smoothness of the road.

“It should only be a matter of
minutes now,” Jon shouted back to her, his words garbled by the wind and barely discernable. True to his word they arrived at his camp within minutes, Jon parking the snowmobile in the exact spot his truck had stood a couple of nights before. Tia felt frozen to the quick. Ben’s parka, though warm, had not been enough to protect her from the wind chill and her hair had pulled away from its braid and hung around her face. Jon’s lips were blue and when he spoke his words cracked like brittle ice.

“I’ll make a fire so we can thaw out.”

Jon bounded up to the nearest tent’s landing and grabbed the shovel leaning against the small metal table.
He returned to the fire pit, vigorously shoveling out the snow that had accumulated after the last storm.

“Grab some dry
wood from under the tarp,” he ordered Tia, and she was glad for some activity, needing to move her frozen limbs after their crazy ride. She obediently retrieved several logs.

“I think I’m going to cheat this time,” said Jon
, placing the logs in the classic Boy Scout pyramid. He returned to the tent and pulling open one of the large metal chests underneath the table, retrieved two packs of fire starters.

“I saved these for the worst weather, but now
seems as good a time as any to use them.” He returned to the pit, removing Ben’s trusty lighter from his parka pocket to light the fire starters which instantly burst into flame. Tia pulled off her gloves and stood close to the fire, seeking to thaw out her stiff fingers.

“I was hoping,
” Jon said mildly, “we’d be able to take the snowmobiles all the way into Timberline, but we’re in danger of suffering severe frostbite unless I can find some balaclavas and goggles. We’ll think about what to do once we’ve had something to eat. Let’s see what sort of food I can dig up in my tent.”

Jon gave his hands another quick rub before
entering his tent. Tia remained where she was, not willing to wander far from the warmth of the fire. A small crunching sound alerted her, but just as she was about to turn a muscular arm dragged her against a rock-hard chest while a rough voice whispered.

“Not a sound sweet Tia.
You remember me don’t you? Quickly now, move with me ever so quietly.” Tia turned her head slowly in his grip and gaped at her ex-fiancé, Paul Dale.

“It’s been a long time,” said Paul
, holding a shiny black Beretta in his right hand. With his left he jerked her against him and pulled her away from the fire. “Not a whisper,” he cautioned.

His overly handsome face was marred with lines of fatigue and exposure and Tia swore his body tre
mbled as he dragged her backward into the sheltering shadow of the trees. Paul leaned shakily against a rough pine but kept a firm hand upon her shoulder, the Beretta loosely grasped in his hand. The clang of metal and the rough sound of a zipper sliding across canvas caused Paul to stiffen.

Jon’s cheerful voice searched for her. “I’ve ma
naged to find a few cans of chili as well as some sliced peaches and French-cut green beans; that oughta make us a fine feast.”

Paul’s arm once again tightened across her shoulders as Jon walked
to the fire pit. He halted abruptly, glancing around in bewilderment at Tia’s absence.

“Tia,” he called. “Tia,
where are you?”

Tia opened her mouth as if to answer, but Paul’s
iron arm warned against it.

“Simons,” rasped Paul’s hoarse voice from the shelter of the trees. “I want you to
back away from the fire and place your hands high in the air where I can see ‘em.”

Jon jerked as if the words were a physical blow and backed away from the dancing flames, his eyes instantly pinpointing where Tia and her captor stood.

“Don’t hurt the woman,” stated Jon’s steady voice. “I’ll do whatever you ask.” He backed away from the fire, his hands held rigidly above his head.

“What?”
asked Paul, appearing startled. “You need to move forward now sweetheart.”

Paul propelled Tia with his body until they
directly faced Jon.

“Tia, are you all right?”
Jon’s voice was a rough hiss as his dark green eyes raked over her.

“Stay where you are,” warned Paul, loosening his grip on Tia.

“I want you to check my back pockets, Love, and search around for the pair of handcuffs there. As we move closer to Simons, you handcuff his hands behind his back, but be careful. Do you know if he has a weapon?”

Tia shook her head mutely, remembering the rifle now leaning against the canvas wall of the tent. She peered at Paul intently, confused by his strange co
mmand.